


if we started out blind, i could make you mine

by stargazers



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Feels, M/M, meet at the gala, not happy heheh, yixing is emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 20:16:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazers/pseuds/stargazers
Summary: Yixing and Yifan meet at the Spring Festival Gala. It's unpleasant and angry and they both leave behind pieces of themselves.





	if we started out blind, i could make you mine

Yixing is pinned up in a black suit of the highest quality, curly hair slicked back, polished to shine in front of the cameras, streetlights, women on the street flashing phone lights at him as they chase his car, anything that reflects light. His smile is instinctive as is his small wave even though he’s tired to the bone, left thigh muscle aching after last night’s practice. He’s on his way to another event – CCTV’s Spring Festival Gala, he can’t afford to forget where he is and what he’s doing no matter how much he wants to be lead in a daze, following the backs of his members when he’s in a state like this, fever running, eyes burning, because he’s still not alone, he carries the weight of his members wherever he goes, now – and a bottle of vitamin water is thrust into his hand. He can’t sleep anyway, his makeup artist will fret and fidget over his puffy eyes when he wakes up and get scolded if he looks off on camera.

‘Wu Yifan will be attending the event, too,’ his manager says offhandedly, shuffling papers in his hands while Yixing’s stomach sinks. ‘Just a heads up, so don’t do anything that’ll grab attention.’

Yixing doesn’t say anything, swallowing hard in his seat while people fret over his hair, his necklaces, his makeup. The car rolls by trees and an orange-purple sky, the setting sun shattering colors like shards of glass. He feels sick to his stomach.

It must show because his manager stops fidgeting to press a firm hand on his shoulder with a ‘He’s just any other Chinese popstar, now,’ and Yixing nods and musters a smile because he doesn’t want to have to open his mouth.

Sleep is gone from him completely.

-

Stepping onto the red carpet is familiar enough for him to walk and smile easily, feeling a little lighter as he reads the sayings on banners his fans hold up, odd things that would make him laugh on any other day. He bows, though, ever grateful, heart-thumping in his chest as he feels his stomach churn and bile rise up his throat. Was it the chicken he had last night? Was it the spice?

Yixing greets TV hosts, actors, musicians one by one as he passes by them, glad he’s still able converse even as his knees feel weak. Every thump to his shoulder with a ‘good man, you’ve worked hard!’ from his seniors have him struggling to stand upright, and eventually the cameras, the faces, the noise become too much. He’s gasping silently, head spinning, and he mumbles a quick ‘bathroom’ to whoever is behind him before stumbling away, making sure that he’s still smiling, his suit is still straight and aligned all the way, because some things are always more important.

He hits the marble pillars of the bathroom with a gasp, head splitting with a migraine, and eyes the empty cubicles with bleary eyes. Thank God he’s alone, Yixing thinks absently.

Except he’s not.

There’s a man hunched over the sink, lean and tall and dressed in black with large hands running under the water, head turned towards where Yixing stands in shock. Black eyes widen in recognition and Yixing wants to laugh – years of careful avoidance of the eyes, circling each other in event halls just so that they are always on opposite ends of the clock, all for them to meet like this. Alone in an empty bathroom.

 _No,_ Yixing thinks firmly. _This doesn’t mean they have to speak. They don’t know each other._

For all the talk of sheep and naivety, Yixing has stubbornness in spades.

The sound of rushing water reverberates loudly in the empty bathroom as Yixing washes his own face, hoping to cool down the burning fever, to stop the room from spinning. He feels Yifan’s eyes on him the entire time even as his hands resume their task of washing up, and there’s that familiar feeling of tightness in his body.

Suddenly, his stomach churns again and he heaves, gripping the sides of the sink as his vision swims, turning to stumble blindly into an open cubicle, somehow landing on his knees in front of the toilet in the space of a second. He throws up – more like retches, there’s nothing but vitamin water and coffee, coffee, coffee in his stomach – and shudders hard.

‘Fucking hell, Yixing.’

The voice comes from behind him, deep and familiar and anger burns in his body, burns through his insides and there’s nothing he can do about it because he’s retching again, throat burning. A shuffle of dress shoes against linoleum and then there’s a large hand on his back, running up and down his spine like-

(-like back then, when Yixing would dance himself to dehydration and throw up the contents of his stomach in their tiny dorm bathroom, Yifan’s hand rubbing soothing circles and lifting him to stand, a bottle of water in hand, a worried scold on his lips-)

And damn his body for relaxing at the touch. Yixing grits his teeth, endures another cycle of heaving and retching until his body has finally stopped quivering like a leaf and he can finally knock the hand away, getting to his feet.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he wants to growl (or shout, or scream) but it comes out rough and rasping and not a little bit defensive as he reaches for the sink, rinsing his mouth. Yifan stands up with him, slowly, warily, eyes dark and glimmering and steady as Yixing falls to pieces in front of him.

_Dammit, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Don’t say anything else, Yixing. Walk out of here with your pride._

‘Don’t say my name like you know me.’

That one comes out a bit better, but Yixing hates the way it feels, anger. He hates it, hates how it burns him up with frustration until he feels like he’ll burst. He always skips this stage; nothing comes out of being angry, he’d rather put that energy to work, but now he can’t imagine anything working without letting this out.

Yifan is still watching him, hands by his sides and eyes trained on Yixing. Familiar eyes. Everything about him feels familiar and Yixing feels like he’s unravelling, ready to scream, tear down the walls, break something. It scares him, this anger. He’s never known true anger and hurt until Wu Yifan.

‘I just want to make sure you’re okay.’

‘Four years is a bit too late to check in, don’t you think?’ Yixing hisses, clutching his ribs where the pain has started up all over again. There are a thousand thoughts going through his mind _– You don’t get that right, you’re not my leader anymore, you left like even living on the side of the road would be better than us_ – and hell, it burns inside of him. Not butterflies but an abundance of fleas, flitting around and rotting his insides until he feels sick with himself for trusting so easily.

Something about his tone finally hits home and Yifan’s jaw clenches as he steps closer, closer, closer until he’s towering over Yixing.

‘What do you want me to say, Yixing? What is it that you want?’

Yixing wants to scream.

‘I want to know,’ Yixing starts, clenching his fists tightly. ‘Why you couldn’t tell me.’

There’s a silence, Yifan’s watch ticking loudly between them. He swallows, eyes softening into something Yixing can’t stand to see. He feels like that teenager all over again, hiding behind broad shoulders, _duizhang, duizhang, duizhang-_

‘I didn’t want you to convince me to stay.’

‘Is _that_ what you think I would do?,’ he bursts, incredulous. ‘You think I would disregard your feelings like that and force you to stay? Is that how little you think of me?’

Yixing lets out an empty laugh, tearing his eyes away from Yifan’s.

‘I blindly trusted you. Probably worshipped you, orbited around you like a fool. You don’t know how much it meant to me when we composed together, when you would encourage me, listen to me, build me up. I felt happy with you, in a new world I had no idea about, you made me feel safe. And you knew all that, knew how much I valued loyalty, how it would break me if you got up and left without a word, and you did it anyway.’

It’s like all the words have been used up, all his energy dissipated. Yixing slumps against the pillar, feeling as lost as he did years ago, waking up to swearing members and choreographers discussing their new stage with one less member. He feels pathetic thinking about how he had fought back then, arguing against anyone who would badmouth Yifan, even Luhan, blindly hoping he would come back soon.

Yifan breathes, lips parted and eyes glimmering. He looks sad, a little lost, a little empty.

‘I didn’t want to tell you,’ Yifan repeats quietly. ‘Because saying goodbye to you would make me want to stay.’

Yixing’s heart picks up again like a pathetic thing as he bites his lip, shakes his head.

‘I know it doesn’t mean anything now, or maybe it means all the world, but I respected you and cared for you, Yixing. I’m selfish. I couldn’t take the chance that your sadness would make me stay. I needed to get out.’

‘It doesn’t change anything,’ Yixing says hollowly. His heart hurts, throat dry like the words are carving against his skin to get out.

Yifan’s mouth opens and closes, lips dry. His hair is black again, natural and soft-looking in the bathroom lighting. He’s as handsome as ever.

‘I still watch you, you know,’ Yifan says. ‘Your CFs all around China. Your music, your perform-‘

‘Please stop,’ Yixing begs, voice cracking. He feels like he’ll break.

‘You did well-‘

‘ _Yifan.’_

Whether it’s Yixing’s tone, or the use of his first name instead of Duizhang, Yifan stops short, startled and guilty. He sighs then, running a hand through his hair.

‘What do you want me to do, Yixing?’

‘What we’ve been doing all this time,’ he answers, voice stronger because this is something he’s sure of. ‘You don’t know me, I don’t know you.’

Yifan looks like he wants to protest, stepping forward, but Yixing turns his head away and he hears a sigh. The man steps past him, then, a large hand squeezing his wrist lightly like all those times before.

‘Take care of yourself,’ a wash of rich cologne and he’s gone.

Yixing slumps against the pillar and puts himself together all over again.

-

When they cross each other on the red carpet, Yifan all black and sleek and dangerous, Yixing doesn’t bow, holds his breath as Yifan walks straight past him, unseeing, and he’s not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> yes it's just weird angst hahaahah still not over their 'interaction' :((   
> Idk why but I'm up for writing some more chapters, perhaps some reconciliation?? is anyone down to read that hahaha let me know


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